Talk to me,he says quietly. I start to cry, the taught composure I've kept finally loosening. He waits, holds me patiently, and ignores the way I make his shoulder soggy. He prompts again, pushing the hair off my face, and I calm down, swallow, walk away..

Talk to me! Her injured silence echoes around the chill. I can't find the words to tell her what's happened, how things are all different now. She looks at me, expectant. She knows there's something nobody will tell her and she looks at me.

A couple of things, aside from the sweet, sweet sound, have always attracted me to this song. First of all, who but Ms. Mitchell would sit the children down in a circle and weave a tale about getting waxed on tequila, then hiking her skirt up in the parking lot and leaving a trail of urine the size and shape of an anaconda? These are casual recollections of that day to day living we all do. But who has ever put it like that before? Could you ever cop a whiz in a parking lot again without thinking of this very image?

But, as she freely admits in this song, this is her problem: She tells it all. And the black/white yin yang here (which is the dynamic in almost all of her best work) is this verbosity when compared to the strong, silent man she wants so badly. The man with the "silent mystery."

The second thing I've never been able to put out of my mind about this tune is the ending. After rambling on for what must seem like forever to Mr. Right, she just throws it all down and says, "Shut me up and talk to me!" I just love that.

There was a moon and a street lamp.
I didn't know I drank such a lot
'Till I pissed a tequila-anaconda
The full length of the parking lot!
Oh, I talk too loose;
Again I talk too open and free.
I pay a high price for my open talking,
Like you do for your silent mystery.